In A Moment
by September's Nobara
Summary: Written as a result of wondering. The colonel asks Ed a question about his choice of hairstyle, and gets a poignant answer. May become a proper collection of drabbles as time goes on.
1. Practicality

In A Moment: One Hundred Words... give or take a few.

**A/N: **Set prior to (_Possible Spoiler Alert!_) the incident involving Hughes and Envy... otherwise, a bit of the dialogue would be rather offensive and tactless. Also, this is something similar to my other work, "Terminology"; just an on/off-topic kind-of drabble about something that could be momentous, or be just an arbitrary thing, and I'm most likely way off base, here.

This one was only supposed to be a hundred words, but it got a little off track... C'est la vie, no:). Warnings (?): Possible warping of FMA timeline, but not from the comment above; this can be ignored, but one may sense possible hints of "EdxWin" and "RoyxEd" (if you see it that way, it's there, but if not, then take it as a general fiction).

* * *

One: Practicality

"Fullmetal..."

The catch, a question, in the colonel's voice, even through the paranoia of another remark about height-or lack thereof-causes me to stop; I can't help but turn to face him once more. "Yeah?"

Pausing for a moment, he opens his eyes languidly, regarding me with those infuriating black-blue irises, making sure he has my complete attention. "What's with the braid?"

For a moment, I wonder, _wait a moment-what? What's his reason?_ "Why should I tell you?" I reply through my surprise, arms crossing, the feeling of warm, biological limb against tepid auto mail reminding me of where, exactly, I should be going right now.

"A little curiosity never hurt, Fullmetal," the colonel answers, resting his head against a gloved hand.

_Right, _I think, biting back the urge to spit those cynical words out, impale him on the truth.

"Besides," he continues, since I didn't bother to respond, "it's an order."

"Since when has my hair been the point of an order?"

"Well, I could order you to have it cut short; if you haven't noticed, all the men under my command have trimmed hair. What's your excuse?"

"I... I don't have one," I grind the words out, sick to my stomach that I have to reply that way. Oh, well-let him think, for a moment, at least, that he's won.

"Oh?" Again, something akin to genuine inquisitiveness pervades the colonel's tone. "Explain."

"Besides," I interject quickly, "it's _not _an 'excuse'... at least, not to me. It's... it's..."

----

_Over, under, over, again and again the locks, like the ones in my eyes, but different, so different, are twisted-never, ever tangled-into a pattern like a sweater I'd seen, or the handle of a basket. Taking more shape, lengthening, bright, free-flowing lemon yellow becomes tight, textured, and confined, a glowing brook of sunlight. Now I know why some religions worship the star we call the Sun._

_"How is it?"_

_A small hand, no bigger than my own at the time, runs gently down it, lets the sun play through chubby fingers as a whole; a reversal of a regular brook's actions._

_"Thank you, Mrs. Elric!"_

_"You're quite welcome, Winry." _

_"Mom...what's that?" Al asks, pointing to the pattern made in Winry's hair._

_"It's called a braid," Mom replies, smiling at Al and me._

_"It's really pretty," Al marvels, eight-year-old fingers rising to almost touch, but dropping back down. "Especially since your hair's getting longer now, Winry."_

_"I guess it's pretty," I remark, tilting my head from side to side. "Could you... teach us how to do it?" I ask, suddenly embarrassed about this request-why should I be blushing a bit over asking to learn?_

_"Sure, if Winry wouldn't mind helping out; would you mind, dear?"_

_"No, I don't mind," she replies, tugging the hair tie away, letting the millions of strands spill free, fanning out and just faintly brushing her shoulder blades._

_"What you first should do, is separate the hair into three sections-make sure they're as equal as you can get them," Mom explains, demonstrating as she goes. "Then take them in your hands, and go over the middle one using one of the side strands; now, the middle strand's a side one, see? Then use the opposite side strand to go over that, and continue like that until you have it as long as you want it, or you run out of hair." She smiles, and for a moment, she seems happy; but after a second, there's something in the curve of her mouth, the arch of her eyebrows, that tell me she's thinking about that man again, _him.

_"Mom-" _

_"Would you like to try? It's pretty easy after you get the hang of it." Mom hands the once again growing braid of Winry's hair to me._

_"Sure," I reply_, _taking to the braid easier than I take to the change of the non-topic._

_"Al, watch closely," Mom murmurs, half serious, half joking. "Careful, Edward-you don't want to hurt her."_

_"He won't," Winry assures us. "He's Ed after all, isn't he?"_

_"What about me?" Al inquires, sounding slightly depressed._

_"Don't worry, you're you, too!" _

_"Yes, you are," Mom says, laughing as she pats Al's and my shoulder, holding us just a little bit closer."You're my boys." _

_----_

"It's a necessity," the colonel supplies, tilting his head, regarding me with those eyes. What's in them, now that he knows? "Practical, too," he adds, with a smile that reaches his eyes in a different way from his usual smirk. It's almost like... understanding? "Fullmetal..." he frowns now, but the soft look in his eyes-who knew something like _that_ could come from him?-doesn't waver. "..._Edward_," he corrects himself, harder tone of voice, this time, where's the rank and alchemic title, now? Is it lost in the sea of this sudden personal moment he's pushed the both of us into? I'm shivering from the cold of the "water" as he continues. "...Thank you, for the explanation. Really," he presses, apparently catching the none-too subtle roll of my eyes. "I appreciate it. Now, you're dismissed." Crap, when did he change back to "colonel" so quickly, instead of staying Roy? I'm a beached oceanic life-form, a banished shri-ugh, no, a banished whale; much better.

"Later," I reply, waving as sarcastically as I can while I turn to face the doors.

"Mm-hmm, take care," the colonel replies, the expression never leaving his eyes.

"Yeah... you too." I answer, pushing through the doors.

"Brother, what took you so long?"

"Just... a little conversation, Al, that's all."

"Then why are you smiling?" Al presses gently. "Usually, you're in a bad mood whenever you leave that room."

"I think we've... come to an understanding," I reply, and continue walking down the hall with Alphonse.

"That's great, because we're on another assignment."

"...What? Am I hearing you correctly?" I wait for Al to nod. "That jerk! I swear, when I get through with him, he won't even be able to snap his fingers to the beat of a drum! I'll-"

"Come on, Ed," Al sighs.

"Fine, let's get going," I concede, anger deflating with each step, replaced with something else as I remember the look in his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, we _have _come to an understanding, after all.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, if that isn't the most contrived piece of writing I've ever produced (I'm thinking of the end dialogue and narrative, here), I'm not quite sure what is! Personally, I think Edward was written here as a bit too emotional, but that's just me. What's your view? 


	2. Consumption

**A/N: **Well, what can I say about this one? It's the third idea, but the second story I'm typing up. Why? I wanted to type this one up before the other one-and I guess, follow the story in chronological order (mid-morning for Practicality, around afternoon for this one, and evening for the next one).

Two: Consumption

September's Nobara

"What's this?" I ask, pointing to the bowl.

"Lunch," the colonel says by way of explanation.

"I _know that_," I reply. "What I mean is, what's in_side_?"

"Food," the older man states, then finally decides to elaborate. "Specifically, white rice, noodles, and general toppings-don't worry, you don't have to be at that rank to eat it." He smiles.

"Ha, ha," I respond dryly, opening up the bowl, and digging in without looking.

"Wow," I hear the colonel remark, prodding my curiosity enough to make me pause the chopsticks.

"What? I'm hungry."

"I'm just surprised you'd be hungry enough to resort to eating your own kind." He comments, leaving the room just as I check the label on the plastic lid of the bowl: _Shrimp, extra small_.


	3. Silence

**A/Ns: **To commemorate today, I give you the generic "April 18th, 2007's Day of Silence®" FMA fic. Read. Educate yourself. "Speaking Card" text © to whomever it does belong to (i.e., _**Not me**_). My apologies for the insensitive pun in the last chapter.

"Text" Talking regularly with one's voice.

_Text _Thinking.

"_Text"_ Written words used for communication.

"Al, what's wrong?" I ask the next morning, glancing up at him.

Shaking his head, he produces a small index card from somewhere in his armor. Handing it to me, he points at the small paragraph typed on the paper:

_"Please understand my reasons for not speaking today. I am participating in the Day of Silence, a national youth movement protesting the silence faced by lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people and their allies. My deliberate silence echoes that silence, which is caused by harassment, prejudice, and discrimination. I believe that ending the silence is the first step toward fighting these injustices. Think about the voices you are not hearing today._

_**What are **__**you**__** going to do to end the silence?**__"_

"Huh," I murmur. "Is this why you got upset about the joke last night?"

A slight nod and subsequent squeaking.

"I was kidding," I say, "but I get your point. No more talking for me today, then. At least the Colonel should be happy," I say dryly. "He'll be able to talk with no interruptions."

_Is it just me, or is it quieter than usual? I think Al's footsteps are echoing... even the colonel's office isn't this soundless... we'll see what's up..._

Hawkeye's the first I see, with a silent wave of her hand, greeting both Al and me as I open the door. _"Good afternoon," _is what's written onthe piece of paper she hands us. Opening my mouth to talk, I hear my voice start to return the greeting, before catching myself. _Much more difficult than I thought._

Gesturing for a pencil, I write something similar, as does Al. _"The Colonel wants to talk to you." _Riza writes, nodding her head in the direction of the colonel's desk-the colonel himself comically twitching as he scribbles out signature after signature.

_"Colonel." _I push the paper onto his desk, when clearing my throat doesn't seem to be doing the trick. The paper is yanked out of my hands, and almost signed along with all the other pieces of paperwork before he looks up.

_"Fullmetal. Good to see you're back."_

_"Sure. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" _I write back, mildly surprised at the fact that he's taking part in this, like almost everyone else.

_"Have you filed your paperwork, yet?"_

_Uh... _I pause, hesitant to reply.

_"No."_

_"Then I suggest you get started. Here." _A stack of paper-it has to be several inches thick-lands in my arms, courtesy of the colonel himself.

I take in a breath of air, all the better to shout at him that _I don't have time_, when he taps the card on his desk, similar to what Al had shown me, and places a gloved finger to his lips, mimicking the motion of "shhhh".

_"Fine. Give me a pen, will ya?" _I scribbled out with a pencil.

He hands one over (probably lamenting that it wasn't his last one, so _he _wouldn't have to deal with his own paperwork), but not before writing _"You're welcome, Fullmetal."_

I wave off the remark, settling down to work. While I'm signing forms, filling in the page, I watch as several people come in during the hours, some talking, then reading the card, and staying quiet afterwards, conversing through the written word, while others remain silent throughout the exchange; others, though, talk before and after, keeping up a one-voiced conversation.

For some time, the scratching of pen on paper is all that's heard (besides Feury's voice on the telephone; he'd been declared the "spokesman" for the day, answering calls placed, and deflecting some of Hughes' random but silent appearances-save for the flapping of the photos he brandished).

Around the end of the afternoon, a knocking sound came at the door.

"Yes?" Feury asks, opening the door.

"Good early evening, everyone!" The voice of Fuhrer Bradley booms from outside in the hall. "Now... what are you all doing here?" He asks as he enters, a large plywood sign with _"Hello, everyone:)" _written on it. "Take a break, go home, get some sleep!"(1)

As everyone packs up to leave, a piece of paper is placed under my nose.

_"Have a good evening, Edward."_

_"You too, colonel."_

I tap Al on the forearm, motioning for us to leave with the rest of the group, while everyone else passes index cards around, I guess in order to say good night.

(1) Fuhrer Bradley's eccentricities make the world go 'round (my excuse for his behavior).


	4. A Change of Perspective

**A/Ns: **An idea for a cosplay skit turned into a fiction: What if The Gate's "flow" had a direction change, and (_**Spoiler!!!!**_) if there's an alternate world version of everyone in the world of FMA, what if there's another alternate world with opposite genders?

* * *

_A Change of Perspective_

"Colonel!" I yell, furiously glancing from side to side, and everywhere in between as I run down the halls, almost running over several other people. "Colonel Mustang!"

"Edward?"

"Lt. Hawkeye!" I gasp, my boots squeaking on the floor as I halt and turn to face her. "Where's Colonel Mustang?!"

"He's in his office, Edward; what's wrong?" She asks with a concerned raise of an eyebrow.

"An-issue with-civilians-!" I manage, dashing back in the direction of the Colonel's office. "Colonel!" I shout as I wrench the door to his office open.

"Edward?" The dark blue-eyed colonel looks up at me, said eyes widening in surprise. "What's wrong?"

"Hu-human-transmutation-!" I gasp out, leaning against the couch in the man's office.

Through my gasps for breath, I watch from the corner of my eye as he shoves away from his desk, the surprise in his face transformed to serious resolve. "Let's go," he says as he opens the door, waiting for me.

"R-right," I respond within an outburst of air, following him out of the room.

* * *

"Good lord," the colonel murmurs, after a sharp intake of breath, probably rich with the bitter, iron tang of blood. "Fullmetal?" He calls up to the top of the stairs where I'm standing. "Are you coming?" Colonel Mustang asks as he takes the steps two at a time, stopping at the third to last one, keeping us more or less eye-level.

"I-in a moment," I reply, after swallowing the slight urge to vomit, a vague burn in the back of my throat remaining.

"Did you tell anyone else?" Colonel Mustang asks softly as I walk down the steps, my footfalls echoing his, but a little off in rhythm.

"No," I answer. "I told the doctor it was a home repair incident."

"Ah."

I glance up at him: his eyes are half-closed, though focusing on the floor of the cellar, his hands making fists in his pockets.

_What's he thinking? _

_Should I care...?_

After forever, or at least what seems like it, he sighs explosively, turning to me. "Let's go."

"But," I say, gesturing toward the cellar's main room, "what about-"

"We'll deal with whatever it is later," he answers, a sharp turn bringing him away, and up the staircase, with me following yet again. Though, just for a moment, I think I heard something other than our own clothes rustling around there.

* * *

"I can't tell you how thankful I am, Major."

"All in a day's work," I manage, while Mustang regards the self-induced victim.

"You're lucky to have just lost your forearms and half a leg," the colonel remarks seriously, leaning on the man's hospital bed's headboard.

"I am, indeed..."

"Excuse me, Colonel, Major, and Andrew (1)?" One of the nurses pokes her head in. "There's a visitor for the patient."

"Well, not really, ma'am," a strangely familiar voice says from behind the door. The man in the hospital bed freezes up, scooting as far back in the bed as he can when a young woman walks in the door. For a moment, I can't place why the blonde hair and yellow-iris eyes seem so recognizable, when I realize I've seen them, as well as heard the slight thump of mismatched limbs, before. The outfit resembles mine, but a little tighter in places, and shorter (2).

Her easy gait brings her closer, and into sharper focus, as she planted herself in front of my C.O (3). Tilting her head as she regards the colonel, her tight braid, apparently tied at both the beginning and end, swings into view. After some consideration, the girl-who seems to be my height-stands on tiptoe, to better see, I guess, the bottoms of her boots squeaking just the tiniest (_not a word, you read me?!)_ bit. A gloved hand reaches up to Colonel Mustang's face, his jaw dropping more so than mine as she says "I _love_ a man in uniform."

"You know, Fullmetal," he turns to face me, a slight choking tone in his voice, "I think you're a little taller than she is."

For a moment, I feel pity for the man; he doesn't see my feminine counterpart's automail arm heading for his face.

* * *

(1) The name of the fellow who attempted human transmutation.

(2) I'll draw this sometime soon, then supply a link.

(3) Commanding officer.

**A/Ns: **Finally, something that's been beating its wings against the inside of my mind has been released. I pray for those subjected to it. Though, I'm happy it's finished, and it was fun to write again.


	5. Driving Mr Elric

I was driving home with my brother earlier this week, when I saw a Mustang car (and was reminded of the idea of buying a car of that brand, and having the licence plate read "Roy"), and wondered what Ed would have to say about that. Hence, this was created. Note: this short story here (points to story below) requires suspension of disbelief; I'll give you time to properly tie it up and adhere it to your ceiling fan.

* * *

Driving Mr. Elric

_W-what the _heck _is _that _...Cannot be serious..._

I walk toward the car, and sure enough, emblazoned on the rear bumper of a blue car, the word "Mustang" sits, almost smugly, along with the licence plate giving a fair clue as to who owns it: ROY.

"Admiring the Colonel's new car, Chief?"

Starting, I look up to see Havoc, a slight smile and cigarette at his mouth.

"I guess," I say.

"Careful, though," he warns, "he said he'd barbeque anyone who gets too close to it." Havoc laughs as he rolls his eyes. "See ya inside, Ed."

"Bye," I reply to his back. He waves in response. "Barbeque, huh?" I mutter to myself, "we'll see about that." Lightly, I clap my hands together, and gently touch them to the car.

(Perspective Change:3rd person, Roy-centric)

_Finally,_ he thinks, walking out the door. _I can go ho-oh? _He walks a bit quicker now, to reach outside the gates of the office. _That color car isn't supposed to be there, _Roy muses, eyebrows turning downward in confusion, royal-blue eyes flashing. As he flings open the gate, he winces, taking in the damage bit by bit: The deep shade of red, instead of blue, the "ROY" replaced with an "E", and, the last straw, "Elric" imposed onto the bumper in the same style "Mustang" had been.

_Oh, he's good, _Roy grudgingly thinks, placing the keys in the lock and getting in the newly redone automobile.


End file.
